


His Ancient Splendors Fling

by jesterlady



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, One Shot, Regeneration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-06
Updated: 2011-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thoughts and moments of the Tenth Doctor.  The end of an amazing five years and, of course, I made it not as sad, though it must be angsty and bittersweet, just a bit.  This is my homage to the RTD era and to David T, so there's a little bit of everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Ancient Splendors Fling

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own DW. Some lines are from the show. The title is by Edmund H. Sears

The universe sang him to his sleep. He could hear the music as surely as the Master heard his drums. It was the sound of the universe placating him, lulling him to his death with a song. Every moment of his years weighed in their opinion, to die or not to die. It wasn’t a question, it was a finality; something he never liked to admit. There were questions. What regeneration was he going to be? Would he know his final moment? What man would live through his death?

He had died before and, oh, so proudly. He could leap forward and save a companion, one so little and precious as Peri. He could fall to his death; he could be brutally shot and mistakenly operated on. He could be ravaged by an old friend or given no option by his own people. So many ways to die. So many ways to live. So many ways. He would do it all again.

He shouldn’t have to. It was his honor, but he shouldn’t have to. Who else would he be if not someone who would? But he would do it again. And now, so many wasted moments. So much that could have been his. It was someone else’s. Those moments would fall through the cascade of time, swept away into a pool of forgotten and neglected things. Would he lie there until the true end of time?

He had his reward. He had the love that carried him through, a true family that stood uncorrupted, more Timelord than any that ever stood upon Gallifrey’s ground. He made himself last for them, to see them one last time with his eyes. The eyes of the Tenth man.

Soldiers they were, but Martha and Mickey remained proud and principled. He was glad that two who shone so brightly, but who were always outshone, could find their brightness in each other. Still, he could’ve received an invite and what exactly had Martha done to her hair? There was so much to say, but he couldn't say a word.

Sarah Jane, comfortable and exciting, his oldest and dearest, teacher and healer. What would he have ever been without her? Three times she’d been his and there’d be a fourth, he promised, he promised.

Jack, the wrong; Jack, the right. He wished he could give more than a name, but there was solace in that name, in the idea that life went on. That they would meet again, that a face could become a Face and never be forgotten.

Old wrongs must be made right and old wounds healed. He did not want to travel too far, did not want to risk the time. He couldn’t. But he could make sure he hadn’t destroyed yet another life, even in someplace as simple as a bookstore.

So many more, too many to count. The laws of time were his. Not even a distant evil laugh resounded in the vortex. The Lock was in place and rivalries laid to rest, ancient loves of brotherhood finally made peace, madness was stilled. But that meant that he couldn’t walk the Highlands of Scotland or traverse the jungles of the Amazon or even stroll through the streets of London as he wanted to. Nor did he need to. Those goodbyes had been made in other times and places with other lives. Only those of this man would be needed.

So the Captain of a starship found the Timelord Victorious on her bridge as he paid homage to a woman courageous enough to fix his mistakes. And a Lady in black, on the run, found a double decker bus toy in her backpack, a present of what could have been. A letter was sent to a little girl named Astrid containing a necklace with a star, a symbol of what was to be. A grave was visited of a man who briefly knew his burden and a small hot air balloon was left, an image of a victory.

A wedding was attended and the best man he was. He could not see his friend, but he could love her from afar and give her the best gift he was able, the upkeep of her fiery soul. And he could face the cause of his death with a smile and love him for it. The bravest soldier willing to die without ever firing a shot.

He could see a mother walking in the snow with her daughter, a mother who had and would nearly snap his jaw with her anger and soothe his brow when he was sick. And the daughter, young and smiling brilliantly. Compassionate and destined. The last thing he wanted to see.

The Timelords lived too long. They couldn’t get over their longevity. They couldn’t pry away their lives. That was Rassilon’s undoing, it was the pride of a long dead culture who had only just been laid to rest. The Time War was now over, the scars that caused a leather jacket and a manic smile could now be healed. He couldn’t be the same; he had proved he was not. But how would the final moment be? Would he languish and fade or stride with a smile? Oh, but he was afraid.

“I don’t want to go.”

But didn’t he? So much death, so much pain. A daughter and an archeologist and a prime minister and a prodigy and a stewardess and a knight and many others. Wouldn’t the dimness of a memory be better than the raw remembrance of now? Didn’t the companionship he was constantly denied and craved deserve to be placed into the past? He would love again. Oh, he had before so many times. Didn’t Rose become just as near and dear, as Sarah Jane and Peri and Jamie and Adric and Tegan and on and on? He could go out with a laugh, knowing he had been truly fantastic. He was that way. He would be reborn, full of newness and all the joy of old. Because everything was gone and resolved. The entire universe was before him.

He wept away his regeneration with a song in his heart and as the last golden light dissipated and the fires raged on, the frenzied energy of life filled his veins. He was new and he was old. All to be had and all he still held. Those who had been said goodbye to would be said hello to. The new man strode away and the old man regretted not the death. It was the way of all the universe and the last notes of the lullaby faded.

Now, where was he? Oh yes, crashing.


End file.
